Shopping Cart
    items

      ←

      January 4, 2024Grass in My HairBruce McRae

      I was arguing
      with the scarecrow.
      His voice
      was like a wall
      of sand coming
      closer and closer.
      He had corn
      on his breath
      but no mouth
      to speak of.
      His mind
      was a straw stalk
      in the wind,
      all the colours
      of a golden
      rainbow, there,
      but not there,
      even his pinstripes
      soil-scented.
      And I was saying
      to the scarecrow,
      “We end,
      we begin.”
      I was telling him
      the true names
      of all the dead.
      I was asking
      a stupid question:
      “Where’s the crow
      inside my head?”
      Which he thought
      quite funny,
      a perpetual grin
      on his dried lips,
      his eyes seeing
      into the far distance,
      a tear forming
      in the new silence
      that summer, and he
      impeccably dressed.

      from #35 - Summer 2011

      Bruce McRae

      “‘Grass In My Hair’ was written in bed during the summer of 2008. In fact, all my poems are written lying down. It was inspired by the heat of August, a cornfield from my youth in Southern Ontario, and The Wizard of Oz.”

      →